Cultured and polished,
so suave and debonair,
You stand amidst a cyclone,
moving not a hair.
You’re quite the handsome fellow,
your lips a wicked leer,
You strike me with your dagger eyes,
and inject me with your fear.
I’ve finally moved beyond you, mind,
to a heaven high above,
far from this dome that you call home,
a prison without love